I just recently returned from a trip to Texas. Texas is where my roots are. I was born and raised in San Antonio, and lived in the same zip code for almost 30 years. But what struck me on this trip was how I felt compelled to share my memories with my kids.
Growing up I spent the majority of my life at my grandparent’s house. Their home has always been my home, you know the place your heart feels most loved and safest. A few years ago my grandmother passes away, and now my grandfather’s health is quickly fading. And as I drove around his neighborhood, the memories flooded my heart.
Even as a child I had a facination with trees.(I know, i’m a tad weird…well perhaps more than a tad depending on who you talk to). I recall looking up to the tops of the trees and feeling so small. The streets lined with huge, crazy tall oak trees and pecan trees.
Trees that provided covering, and a habitat for scurrying squirrels and burdensome blackbirds. My grandparents had huge pecan trees, we were never in short supply. In the front yard, a fruitful pear tree, in the backyard peach trees and blackberry vines that found its path of life down the fence lines. Eating berries off the vine, picking pears from the branches, cracking pecans and eating them out of the shell, connected to the fruit of the tree was a part of our everyday life.
Driving through the tunnels of brranches that covered the road reminded me of the great maturity of the neighborhood, of the life lived there, the experiences experienced, the wisdom gained, the time passed. Immediately I had a vision of our sad growing oak trees in the front of our house, and realized they aren’t sad, they are young, immature, without grandeur because they have experienced little life.
So much like us. We look at ourselves wishing for a depth in character, a change in our lives, a sudden maturity and understanding. We fail to see that to become strong, steady, stable, deep, we must go through the process of living, we must weather the storm. We have to to be the creater of blackberry and peach memories to others, provide shade to passerbys, have our limbs cut and shaped.
Our life is a process, it takes time. Don’t you think?